


The Case Of The Missing Memory

by musicin68



Category: Perry Mason (TV 1957), Perry Mason (TV), Perry Mason - All Media Types
Genre: 50 First Dates/Momento memory tropes, 50sTV/80sTV/Book Perry Mason, Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Memory Loss, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicin68/pseuds/musicin68
Summary: Perry Mason can’t resist a mystery. He just never suspected the mystery would be himself.
Relationships: Perry Mason/Della Street
Comments: 51
Kudos: 44





	1. Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Lauren for vetting most of this story and convincing me it wasn’t too off the wall to share.

Perry woke and stretched languidly. He was cold, but must have had a good night’s sleep. He actually felt well-rested, an unusual state for him. Fishing for the sheet, he froze. There was a woman in bed with him. The early morning light was enough for him to make out a head full of tousled brunette curls and the fact that she was completely nude.

The sheets were tangled around her long, slim legs, and Perry found himself staring. Arousal pricked his flesh. How much had he had to drink last night? Had he been drinking? He didn’t feel hung over, but he didn’t remember anything either. God, he didn’t even remember her name. For a moment he considered slipping from the bed, not wanting to face her, but he couldn’t seem to break away. She was beautiful.

Perry didn’t make a habit of bringing girls home, but it happened on occasion. He shifted, trying to get a better look at her. The woman sleeping peacefully beside him seemed young, her face devoid of makeup. That struck Perry. What sort of woman was comfortable enough with a man she had just met to let him see her without her face, so to speak? Not that she needed it. She was lovely as she was, but the women who had ended up in his bed before had always taken care to present themselves in the best possible light, even the morning after.

She began to stir. Rolling towards him and nestling into his side she smiled. “Good morning,” she said sleepily. Her voice was low and sultry, and Perry had a feeling that it always sounded like that, not just when she was woolly-headed from sleep. He couldn’t help the smile that broke over his face.

“Hello,” he ventured. He racked his brain. Damn it all, what was her name? She blinked owlishly, and Perry found himself being appraised by inquisitive, hazel eyes. It was suddenly clear how he could have ended up here, even if he couldn’t remember how it had happened.

Her gaze, followed by her hand, drifted down his body and settled on his half-erect member. She smirked, “It’s nice to see you too.”

Perry groaned as she stroked him lightly. He didn’t remember the night before, but he was suddenly in no doubt that he was about to get a reprise. He turned her chin gently back towards him and leaned in to kiss her.

She moaned softly against his mouth, and his arousal grew harder. She pressed her body against his, and the feel of her skin ignited his lust everywhere it touched. He could still faintly smell the perfume she had worn last night. Something spicy, with a hint of citrus. Something tantalizingly familiar. She shifted to straddle him and Perry couldn’t stop the exclamation that burst from him as she began to rock against him, her slippery arousal whetting his stiff anticipation.

He took hold of her hip with one hand and a soft breast with the other, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She threw back her head with a cry and rocked harder against him. “Oh, Perry!”

“You—you’re so beautiful,” he managed. She lifted her hips and reached under them to position him against her soft opening. He bucked his hips upwards in expectation, but she held off. She pressed his shoulders down into the mattress with long, strong fingers, holding herself above him, letting only the sensitive tip partake of her burning heat. He ignored the urgency that demanded he take hold of her hips and drive as deeply as he could, but a growl of frustration managed to slip out. As if that were the cue she had been waiting for, she sunk down on his waiting erection, taking him in fully. “God Del—!” he cried, swallowing the words on his lips when she froze, eyes wide. “Did I—did I hurt you?”

“No,” came her breathless reply with a tiny shake of her head.

He had been about to call out a name, or maybe a curse. He couldn’t tell if her reaction had been surprise or pain. What had he said? His mind raced as fast as it was able, but it wasn’t the head in charge at the moment. He couldn’t seem to pull it up again. “I—I’m sorry...” Perry trailed off at the wide smile that had broken over her lovely face. She leaned forward to kiss him greedily. Soft whimpers muffled by his lips escaped her as she set up a steady rhythm with her hips.

Perry gasped, trying desperately to think of anything but the warm, wet heat that had enveloped him. He wanted to watch her come, wanted to feel her shudder and clench around him, but at this rate, he was never going to last. Three, six, nine, twelve, fifteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty um...she felt so good, so right. He was so close.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment trying to refocus. Threes weren’t nearly difficult enough. What had Saturday’s box scores been? Doby had four at-bats, one out, two walks, and...she was lush and slick, so tight around him. She rocked faster, and Perry ground his teeth together trying to hold out. Suddenly she was gasping and crying aloud as he felt her tighten and release. Perry grabbed her hips as her climax pushed him beyond sense. He thrust with abandon for only a moment more, his own peak coming hot on the heels of hers. Muscles tightened and endorphins flooded his system as he pulsed, emptying himself inside the woman who had collapsed against his chest.

He forced his fingers loose of their bruising grip on her and wrapped his arms around her smooth back. Rolling to his side he brought her with him, certain that the contented look on her face was mirrored on his own. He lay happily until he felt himself begin to slip out of her. “Do you know? I could get used to waking up like that,” Perry chuckled, mostly at himself. Never mind that he didn’t even know her, never mind he couldn’t even remember how they had ended up in bed together.

“Mmm. I bet you say that to all the girls,” she smirked.

Well, she was certainly a spitfire. He grinned. The only trouble was, he was going to have to ask her name, and it was going to spoil the moment. He’d just find a way to make it up to her. He couldn’t imagine letting her get away. “I have a confession to make.”

“I had better get cleaned up,” she said, slipping out of his arms and moving lithely towards the bathroom door.

“Wait. Please. I wish I wasn’t saying this, but...I don’t remember your name.”

She tilted her head, a bemused expression on her face, before sighing lightly. “I know. Check the journal in the nightstand or the notebook in the bathroom. Oh, by the way, Paul said he intended to take us out to dinner tonight,” she tossed over her shoulder as she entered the bathroom.

He stared at the empty doorway in confusion. A journal? Paul? She knew Paul Drake? He didn’t remember Paul talking about setting him up with someone lately. He ran a hand through his hair as he thought furiously. His fingers froze as they came into contact with an unfamiliar scar behind his temple. What the hell?

With shaking hands he pulled open the nightstand drawer. Inside lay a slim leather volume. He opened it and began to read. _Her name is Della..._


	2. Day One

“Perry.”

He woke slowly, trying to hold on to a dream. Something important, something he needed was slipping away.

“Perry. Wake up, we’re here.”

The feminine voice was smooth and rich, comforting in its familiarity. Perry opened his eyes and blinked. To his surprise, he found himself staring up into an entirely unfamiliar face. A beautiful face to be sure, but one he did not recognize at all.

She smiled at him and moved a lock of hair back off his forehead. Like lightning, he caught her wrist, and the smile on her face became frozen in place.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said quietly.

He realized two things simultaneously. He was lying in the front seat of a car, and his head was in the strange woman’s lap. Perry frowned, trying to place her face but all he got for his efforts was a headache. He sat up somewhat awkwardly, still holding her by the arm.

She sat patiently without trying to pull away. He stared at his immediate surroundings trying to understand, trying to remember how he had gotten there. His eyes traveled outside the car. “My cabin.”

“Yes.”

“What are we doing at my cabin?”

“The doctors thought it might help. Being in Los Angeles was…” She bit her lip before deciding on a word. “Difficult.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s a little after noon. You fell asleep a few hours ago on the drive up. You’d been up nearly twenty-four.”

Perry ran his free hand through his hair and his fingers found an unexpected ridge along his scalp. “What?What happened?”

“You were hurt.” Her voice remained even, but Perry had long ago learned to watch a witness’s eyes when they spoke. Her hazel ones flickered away from his for a moment. “Shot. Do you want to talk about it here or go inside?”

Shot. Was that why he couldn’t remember? How long ago? The scar was covered by hair. Several months at least then. A year? He looked down at the hand still trapped in his grasp. “I…Let’s go inside.” He let her go. She pulled the key from the ignition, pushed open her door, and came around to his side of the car. He got out slowly, his mind still trying to get on track.

He knew the cabin, the road, the lake, but he didn’t know her. She waited to see he had actually gotten out of the car, then walked lightly up the path and slipped the keys into the front door. She was tall and slim, in a pale shirtwaist dress, with brunette curls bobbed just below her ears. The confidence with which she moved said she had been here before. Who the hell was she?

Perry followed her inside. The cabin was the same. Almost. He spent some time looking over the front room. Fireplace, couches, tables, he recognized most everything. But every so often something would catch his eye. A pillow. A vase of flowers. Small, subtle things that he hadn’t furnished the room with, things he didn’t remember.

“I’m going to make us some coffee. I know you slept in the car, but I’m about to fall asleep on my feet.”

The woman walked into the kitchen while he was trying to reacquaint himself with his surroundings and returned with a glass of water and a small bottle. She set them on the coffee table and then excused herself and returned to the kitchen once more. When she returned with a tray bearing two coffee mugs and a carafe, she set it down next to the other glass and seated herself at one end of the whiskey-brown, leather couch in front of the fireplace.

Perry picked up the bottle with a frown.

“Aspirin,” she informed him. “In case your headache gets worse.”

“How did you know I had a headache?”

She shrugged. “It’s not an uncommon occurrence.”

The injury had clearly been bad if all memories of the incident had been erased. “Are you my nurse?”

“No,” she said with a small smile. “I’m your secretary.”

“I don’t…” A strange thing happened as he began to voice the thought that he didn’t remember having a secretary. He _did_ remember having a secretary. Of course he had a secretary. He just didn’t remember _this_ secretary. Ellen Weissman had been his secretary, but she had left to get married. Surely he had hired someone else. Had it been this woman? Why didn’t he remember that? What did that have to do with the scar above his ear?

“Tell me what happened.”

“When?”

“You said I was shot. What happened?”

She took a deep breath, “Do you want to sit down?”

He frowned again, more deeply this time. He had cross-examined enough people to spot the fact that, “You’re stalling. Why?”

She sighed. “I don’t like this part.”

“What part?”

“The part where I have to explain what happened.”

“You’ve had to explain it to me before?” he asked with some alarm.

She nodded.

“I don’t remember that at all. I don’t remember you.”

“I know,” came her soft reply.

Perry sat at the other end of the couch and turned towards her. He reached for the unfamiliar ridge on his head again. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he tried to wrap his mind around the situation. She was right, the headache was getting worse. He reached for the medication. He ignored the water and chased a couple of pills down with a sip of coffee. It was probably contraindicated due to the fact his memory seemed to be unreliable, but he wished he had something a hell of a lot stronger. It was damn good coffee though. Just the way he liked it.

As if she had read his mind, the woman confirmed his supposition. “I’m afraid alcohol is strictly against Dr. Harley’s orders.”

He grunted and took another drink of his coffee. The mention of Dr. Harley brought forth a picture in Perry’s mind of a man on the far side of middle age with a droll smile. He hadn’t forgotten everything then. What did he remember? He remembered who he was. His name was Perry Mason. He was an attorney. He worked primarily in criminal law, and he loved going out and getting his hands dirty when there was a mystery to be had. Well, he certainly had a mystery on his hands now.

“Why do you have to keep explaining things?”

“You haven’t been able to remember anything that’s happened since they took the bullet out.”

Had he hired her after being shot? Had she accepted the job knowing this was what it was going to be like? “But I remember things from before that point?” It couldn’t only be that. He didn’t remember an incident in which he had been shot.

“Most things…not everything. You don’t remember the case we were working on when it happened. You’ve forgotten some details about cases you’ve handled.”

We had been working on. She had been there before the incident then. “And you.”

“And me.”

“How long have you been working for me?”

Her tongue darted out and moistened her lower lip. “Six years.”

“Six years!” he exclaimed. “I’ve lost six years!”

“Not entirely,” she said hastily as she leaned forward to touch his knee.

He looked down at her hand, startled by the familiarity, and she removed it slowly. He immediately felt a sense of loss at her withdrawal. “What’s your name?”

“Della Street.”

“Della Street.” He tested the name out, feeling it on his tongue, but there were no hints of recognition in his brain. There was an almost hopeful look on her face that faded as he asked, “Do you prefer Della or Miss Street?”

“Della’s fine.”

“Della.” A small smile graced her face, and he knew with certainty that he wanted to see her smile again.

“I haven’t forgotten waking up in the car. How long before I forget again.”

“Things start to get fuzzy about twenty hours out, though it’s hard to tell how much of that can be contributed to lack of sleep.”

He nodded. “In that case, I need to take some notes.”

Della got up and walked over to the desk. She opened it and pulled out a notebook and pen. He thought she was going to take notes for him, as a secretary would, and opened his mouth to stop her. To his surprise, she handed them both to him before he could get a word out.

“It’s better if they’re in your own handwriting. They’ll be more familiar when you read over them.”

“I was just going to suggest that.”

She smiled again, and he ignored his concern that her smile had so quickly become such a powerful reward. “I can add anything you like after your initial notes.”

“Let me hear it from the beginning.”

Della sat again, crossed her ankles primly, and smoothed her skirt over her knees. “A man named Artie Rasp came to you and asked you for advice regarding his sister, Ellen. She was being blackmailed. He wanted the blackmailer dealt with, and you agreed to help. Unfortunately, it turned out that what Mr. Rasp really wanted were the goods the blackmailer had so _he_ could blackmail his own sister.” Della Street gritted her teeth, and Perry stopped writing. “It was awful. You...you were going to find a way to stop him, but Ellen killed Rasp before you had the chance. She was frightened, and she still had the gun when you came in the door. She panicked. And...she shot you by mistake.”

Perry reached for her without thinking. He didn’t remember any of it. He had no sudden emotional reaction to her story, but he could see that it pained her. Though he could not say why, he wanted to give this woman relief. If the retelling of the incident that led him here hurt her, he would set it aside for now. “Tell me something about you. Maybe it’ll trigger something.”

Her eyes seemed riveted on the spot where his hand covered hers. She hesitated and then laced her fingers through his. “I have an aunt who lives in Bolero Beach...”

They sat talking until Della announced that she was starving. They moved into the kitchen and Perry, his headache abated, insisted on cooking for her. He very quickly discovered that her laugh was even more delightful than her smile.

When she was nodding over a post-meal cup of coffee, he suggested that they retire for the evening. Perry escorted Della up the stairs, and she walked with him to his room. They were both inside it before he realized what had happened. He stood awkwardly in the center of the room as she moved to the wardrobe in the corner. He had learned in less than a day that not only was she lovely, she was clever and resourceful. But she was his secretary. He wasn’t sleeping with her, was he?

“Della, I…”

She pulled a pair of pajamas out and set them on his bed. “I think that’s the only thing that was moved. You shouldn’t have trouble finding anything else.” He tried not to let his embarrassment show. “I’ll be in the room down the hall if you need anything.”

Despite his chagrin at where his thoughts had led him, Perry found himself reluctant to let her go. He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a symptom of his memory lapse, she was after all the only person he had seen that day, but he suspected that he would have felt the same even if he remembered everything.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Chief.”

“Goodnight, Della.”

Perry watched her shut her door before closing his own. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he pulled open the drawer of the bedside table. Inside lay slim leather-bound book and a pencil. He wanted to write down something aside from the clinical details of what had happened. Perry was a man who went with hunches and gut feelings. He needed a record of something that was more than just bare facts. He opened the journal to the first page and after a moment of deliberation started with the most important thing he had learned that day.

_Her name is Della, and she knows you better than you know yourself._


	3. A Morning

Perry walked groggily down the stairs of his Bear Lake cabin, trying to recall the dream he had just had. It had seemed familiar, like a movie he had seen before. It wasn’t the first time he had experienced recurring dreams. Usually they became more vivid with each iteration, but whatever this one had been it had succeeded in vanishing into the haze of morning. He didn’t doubt it had been driven away, at least in part, by his confusion. What was he doing at Bear Lake?

He stepped into the small kitchen and stopped short at the sight of a slim brunette standing with her back to him. She wore baby blue capris and a loose white shirt that had the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her attention was focused entirely on the fruit she was slicing into a bowl. She was barefoot.

“What are you doing in here?”

The woman spun, clutching at her chest. “Chief! I didn’t know you were up. You scared me half to death!”

His eyes fell to the knife in her hand, and he wondered if he could disarm her without damaging either of them. “This is a private residence. How did you get in?”

As if she knew what had gone through his head, she immediately reached over and dropped the knife into the sink with a clatter.

“I’m Della. There’s a notebook on your bedside table; you’ve been writing down what you can’t remember.”

“What I can’t…”

“There’s aspirin in the upstairs bathroom medicine cabinet, and coffee is on the table.”

“How…”

“Come upstairs.”

He let her take his large hand in her small one, completely flabbergasted as she took charge. She led him upstairs to his room and pointed out a stenopad he had completely ignored when he woke. He picked it up and she backed away. “I’ll give you a moment.”

Perry read through several pages written in his messy scrawl before he dropped the notebook back where it had sat. The information there was clinical and to the point. He had been badly injured in a case gone wrong, and he couldn’t remember it or anything since. He glanced about for the woman who was apparently his secretary, but she was gone. Surely there was more. He yanked open the table’s small drawer and was relieved to see a small leather bound diary. He picked it up and began to page through it.

_Her name is Della. It’s possible I’ve met a woman who is as clever, funny, and kind-hearted as she is, but I certainly don’t remember it..._

When he returned to the kitchen, he sheepishly cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I left myself a note in the bathroom. I shouldn’t miss the notebook again.”

“It’s alright. Breakfast is just about ready.” His eyes fell to the food she had prepared.

“I…I was thinking I might go fishing today.” It wasn’t like there was work to keep up on. The amount of free time stretching before him seemed suddenly ominous.

“I can pack you a lunch, if you like.”

“That would be nice.” He watched her set two places kitty-corner at the table. “Do you cook for me often?”

She smiled. “Only when you’re not cooking for me.”

The way she took care of him, the warmth with which he had written about her, how could she be nothing more than his secretary? His thoughts drifted to the journal secreted away in his drawer, the one that gave him a glimpse into this woman who had stuck by his side for better or worse. Definitely worse as of late. For better or…he was an idiot. She might have started out as his secretary, but she was clearly a great deal more. That she hadn’t told him made sense. How do you tell a man who can’t remember you that you loved him? Why else would a beautiful, bright woman be hanging around to nurse and keep house for him?

“I don’t suppose this is at all what you expected it would be.”

“What in life ever is?” She shrugged as she finished setting fruit, milk, toast, and eggs on the table. “Some mornings are harder than others. You didn’t call the police today.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I’ve called the police? About you?” he asked incredulously.

A wide grin spread over her face, and he realized she was teasing him. “No. Not the police. Though you did call Paul Drake once.”

They sat, and Perry filled his plate. “I bet he laughed himself hoarse.”

Her smile faded. “He didn’t laugh at you.”

Perry hated to see that smile disappear, but the feeling was quickly supplanted as excited realization took its place. “I remember Paul.”

She nodded encouragingly. “Mmm-hmm. He said he’d be up to visit again as soon as he could get away.”

His excitement faded almost immediately. “Why don’t I remember you?”

Della paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth. “I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“Paul’s a very old friend.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore. “You remember a lot of people and things you knew before…before it happened.”

He frowned. “Is Hamilton Burger still the D.A. for Los Angeles County?”

“Yes. He was just elected to another term.”

“I remember him. Why do I remember him but not you?” Perry’s frustration was growing and with it the beginnings of a headache. Why couldn’t he remember?

“Perry, it’s alright,” she said soothingly, her free hand coming to rest on his bicep. “Your relationship with Burger has always been on the contentious side. There are a lot of emotional highs tied to those experiences. The doctors said that memories with that sort of strong attachment would probably be easier for you to recall.”

“You’re telling me I have a strong emotional attachment to the district attorney but not my wife?!” he practically shouted.

Della jerked back and her fork clattered loudly as it hit her plate on its way to the floor. “Your—what?”

“I can understand why you didn’t tell me. I can’t even imagine how hard this must be for you, but it’s obvious—”

Her wide-eyed shock brought him up short. “Perry, I’m not…” She shook her head. “We aren’t married.”

“We’re not?”

“Did I say something that made you think we were?”

“Well, no. Nothing outright. But Della—” At the sound of her name her eyes snapped to his, and he knew his hunch had to have been right. Maybe they weren’t married, but there was something more between them.

“We aren’t married,” she repeated quietly.

He reached for her hand and watched her eyes drop to the point of contact between them. “Then I must be a colossal idiot.”

“I—you aren’t.” She closed her eyes. “You asked. I said no.”

“After I was shot?”

She shook her head, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “Before.”

“But you stayed.”

“Of course.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “It’s funny. All this time I thought all you would ever really need was a good secretary, and here I am playing housewife.”

Perry leaned towards her, the rush of emotion taking him by surprise. He opened his mouth to ask her to marry him again on the spot. What was wrong with him? What kind of heel asked a woman to tie herself to someone in his current state? Where had that come from?

Her eyes roamed over his face in study. She was so lovely, her thoughtful consideration as pretty as her smile. He took in a breath, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but instead of asking any of them he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Tenderly at first, but when her mouth opened in a sigh he caught her lower lip between his and deepened the kiss. Her tongue darted forward to run teasingly along his lip and he groaned. He could kiss this woman forever.

He reached for her neck, but Della broke away abruptly and stood. “This is...” Her eyes fell to the table and then the floor. “I should get this cleaned up.”

Perry remained seated as she turned and retreated to the kitchen. This was what? A mess? Why had he kissed her? How could he carry on an affair with a woman he wouldn’t remember? He needed to figure out something fast because the pleasant ache in his groin was being fast overtaken by a growing ache in his chest. Maybe he had hurt her.

She returned after a few minutes with a damp rag in her hand and wiped up the food she had dropped. Perry played with a piece of melon as he decided on a course of action. “I seem to be putting two and two together and getting twelve. Could I ask you a few questions to get myself straightened out?”

Her face shuttered briefly. “Go ahead.”

What he really wanted to know was why she had turned him down, but he knew instinctively he wouldn’t get anywhere with that question. “Why did I ask you to marry me?”

Della tilted her head as she examined the examiner, and he wondered if she would see through his ploy. “The answer to that question would surely be deemed hearsay.”

“I want to see where this goes. I’ll allow it.”

She sat down. “You were having a good time. We both were.”

He settled against the back of the chair. “I don’t recall ‘having a good time’ ever being enough to entice me into a life-long commitment, unless I’ve forgotten a number of marriage proposals.”

“Mmm. What about a _very_ good time?”

“Even an exceptionally good time. Was I as insincere as that?”

“You weren’t insincere, just,” she searched for the right word. “Naive.”

“All right. I’ll admit to a lack of experience in matrimony, but isn’t that the way it is for most entering the marital state?”

“I’m afraid I can’t provide you with an expert opinion either, Counselor.”

“But unlike me, you have practical knowledge of a proposal. I’m afraid I’m still not satisfied with your answer.”

“You never were.” She was fighting a smile now. “You approach life just like the courtroom; you like to make a splash. Asking me to marry you was the grand gesture that felt right to you.”

He needed to make a gesture? “Were...you pregnant?”

“Nooo,” she replied gently. “I was not pregnant.”

“I was not insincere, you were not pregnant, and I felt the need to make a ‘grand gesture’. The inescapable conclusion of your answers is that I asked you to marry me because I loved you.”

The smile that broke on her face was at once soft and brilliant. “Maybe you did.”

“You doubted me?”

“That you loved me? Not really.”

He nodded. If he had loved her and she hadn’t reciprocated his feelings, well, that would explain a lot.

“If nothing else, it would certainly explain the repeated attempts,” she said wryly.

“Repeated...there really were more proposals? I asked you more than once? Wait, before or after I stopped being able to remember?”

“All before.”

“How many times did I propose to you?”

She paused in thought. “Nine.”

Perry stared at her. He had proposed nine times? What had he been thinking? “Over what time frame did these proposals occur?”

“About three years.”

Once every four months. “And the answer was always the same?”

She nodded.

“I can see why you called me naive.” He had it all backwards. He frowned. He had loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her, but she hadn’t felt the same. Oh, he was certain she hadn’t lied about them both having a good time; she _had_ just kissed him back. She must have tried to let him down easily, and he hadn’t taken the hint. “I’m surprised you didn’t call me a serial harasser.”

“You never pushed me or insisted.Even if my answer wasn’t ever going to change.”

“I still owe you an apology. I should have respected your wishes. And I’m sorry I kissed you just now. I was out of line—”

“Perry, stop.” She was smiling again. “You’re no closer to four than you were before. You can just ask me what you want to know. I won’t break.”

Would he? He swallowed. “Why did you say no?”

“I was happy. I loved working with you, and...I didn’t want that to change.” He nodded slowly even though he wasn’t sure he understood, and she continued. “I thought I understood us inside and out, but I was just as naive as you. Change is inevitable. If nothing else, this whole mess has taught me that, but ending up somewhere unexpected doesn’t necessarily mean that nothing good can come from it.”

He rubbed absentmindedly at the ridge behind his ear. “What’s good about me not being able to remember?”

Della’s smile fell away. “I know you feel like you’re fumbling in the dark, but I don’t... _you don’t_...” She sighed. “I can’t tell you who you are.”

But he knew who he was. Didn’t he? He was Perry Mason, defense attorney, a fighter, a seeker of justice. He certainly hadn’t forgotten that.

“I can give you the facts, Chief, but you won’t be satisfied unless you’re the one putting them together.”

He grunted. She wasn’t wrong. Despite knowing his name, the core of who he was, he felt...adrift. He was still missing something. Could she really help him find it? “How am I supposed to live like this?”

“One day at a time,” she said firmly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this ended up being posted late. I really do intend a weekly update for this story; this week has just been challenging. This chapter is far from perfect, but I think it’s what I need it to be. Thank you for sticking with me and reading along!!


	4. An Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...delight.
> 
> Here there be smut. A lot of smut. For a long time as I worked on plotting out this story this chapter contained one sentence. “Perry and Della have sex.” It’s now close to 5,000 words long. Consider yourself warned.
> 
> PS: Lauren, you were totally right. It needed more smut.

The rain began a steady tattoo against the cabin windows as the wind picked up. The sky was an unrelenting slate gray that lent a gloomy atmosphere to the sitting room. Perry thought briefly about getting up to build a fire but continued flipping through the notebook in his hands. It was a lot to take in. He had been shot, lost his memory, his work, well, just about everything. He seemed to be living at Bear Lake, and wasn’t at all sure what had happened to his Los Angeles apartment or the office. He supposed he ought to ask the mystery woman about it. _Her name is Della_. He hadn’t met her yet, today anyway. There had been a note on the kitchen table saying she had stepped out early to run errands and wouldn’t be back until after lunch.

Perry considered himself a student of human nature. It was his business to understand why people did what they did. But reading the contents of the little journal, he couldn’t seem to understand himself. It was obvious he cared for this woman, but why on earth was she there? He couldn’t imagine himself living in domesticated tranquility, and he wasn’t actually an invalid; he didn’t really need a nurse. He had managed so far today with the information he had, and he wasn’t working anymore. What was the point of keeping a secretary?

Perry wondered idly if he would find her attractive. He hadn’t bothered to write down what she looked like. Perhaps the camaraderie he sensed in his words came from a meeting of the minds. Maybe he was just employing her to keep him company. An image of a dowdy, old spinster acting as his paid companion popped into his head, and he laughed. Della. It was an old-fashioned sort of name, after all. He tried it out, and it rolled easily off his tongue. Ah well, as long as she was interesting to talk to, her appearance didn’t matter much.

The even sound of the rain was interrupted by a thump against the door. Perry stood and was moving that way when the door swung open letting in a gust of cool, wet air. The woman who entered was wrapped in a tan mac and had a soggy bag of groceries in each arm. She kicked awkwardly at the door, and Perry closed the distance between them. “You must be Della. Let me help you with those,” he said, rescuing her precariously balanced cargo. He caught a glimpse of sparkling eyes beneath the hood of her coat, and she flashed him a smile. Not a dowdy, old spinster at all.

Water was dripping from her coat onto his house shoes. When she pushed back her hood, exposing short, wet, brown curls that framed high cheekbones and cherry-red lips, more showered down about them. Perry remained rooted to the spot. He didn’t even realize he was staring, poleaxed, until she spoke. “Thank you.” Her voice was pitched low. Rich and mellow, it ran through him like scotch, warming him all the way down to his increasingly wet feet. Attractive? Hell, she was drop-dead gorgeous.

He felt the damp paper in his hands beginning to tear, and he forced himself to turn abruptly towards the kitchen. The bags were a half-inch above the kitchen counter when the soaked paper finally gave way, and Perry breathed a sigh of relief that he had avoided a complete mess.

“Do you need any help, Chief?” came that silken voice again.

“I’ve got it,” he responded quickly. He restocked the icebox and threw the not-so-dry goods into a cabinet as quickly as he could.

“I’m going to light a fire,” she called. “I don’t know about you, but I’m chilled just about to the bone.”

“That sounds fine. The fire...not you being cold, I mean.” Damn, he felt like an idiot. She was pretty; that was no reason to become a tongue-tied fool.

Della was filling the grate when he came back into the main room. She wore a white blouse that the raincoat had failed to keep completely dry, and it clung to her quite attractively. Perry continued his appraisal as she worked. His eyes lingered where the shirt had faded to translucence against the swell of her breast. The brassiere she wore beneath it hid the intimate details; the nipples that had surely hardened against the cold damp cloth. Lower still, he could easily see the color of her skin where the shirt adhered to her rib cage. The tight, dark skirt she wore afforded no such intimacy, but it molded to her hips just the same before continuing demurely on to cover her knees. She had eschewed her shoes entirely. The sight of her stockinged feet struck a chord deep inside him, and he was suddenly, unaccountably, happy.

“A nice day for ducks,” he said with a grin.

She looked up from where she knelt in front of the fireplace. “Isn’t that why they call it _fowl_ weather?”

He grinned wider and got a small smile from her in response. He definitely wanted to make her smile again. Satisfied with the arrangement of wood and paper, Della got to her feet. Perry allowed himself the luxury of watching her very attractive backside as she bent over to put a match to the carefully stacked fuel.

“Did you put ‘fire-starter’ on your resume when you applied for the job as my secretary?”

“It’s an under-appreciated talent.” She tossed the nearly finished match into the fire and straightened. “Normally employers are interested in a secretary who can put out fires.”

“Normal is terribly boring, don’t you think?”

She smiled again. “You begin to understand why I stuck with the job. Working with you is—was never dull.” She picked up the poker and watched the growing flames for a moment.

“You aren’t at all what I expected based on my notes.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said wryly. “You were never particularly thorough when it came to paperwork.”

Perry watched her. She was quick and clever. Oh, he was sure he had enjoyed working with her immensely. It still didn’t explain why she was still around. He had a growing hunch, but he certainly wasn’t going to act without confirmation. “I hope I paid you an outrageous salary. Keeping me organized is a Herculean task.”

“You did, and it was.”

“And now?” Without a steady source of income he doubted very much he could afford to pay her what she had earned before.

She shrugged, but he saw the tension in her posture nonetheless. “Well, room and board is included, so I probably come out about the same.” That was a lie, but he couldn’t tell who it was meant to protect, her or him.

“There’s certainly not much excitement without case work.”

“Oh, there are other perks.” She pushed a log around, avoiding his gaze. The fire was burning steadily now, and Perry could feel the warmth from where he stood. Her shirt still clung to her but would lose its translucent cast before long. Her face was turning pink with the heat.

“What sort of perks?” He couldn’t quite keep the suggestive tone from his voice as he moved a step closer.

She turned with a smirk, “You promised to teach me to tie flies, for one.”

“You’re interested in fly fishing?”

“You are,” she chuckled. “It turns out you can really cook, when you aren’t terribly distracted, for another.”

She wasn’t going to admit it. He could see that now, and he knew better than anyone that confronting a clever witness required a certain amount of surprise. “Am I paying you anything at all?”

She stopped playing with the fire. “I’m not interested in your money.” That was the truth.

“Then why stay?”

Della’s free hand went to her hip. “I just love watching you work. Of course, now the only one around to interrogate is me, but a girl has to get her thrills where she can,” she replied tartly. Another deflection.

“Did I seduce you?”

Della laughed. It was even better than her smile. “Do you want to?”

“I’m seriously considering it.”

She regarded him with a tilt of her head. “Well, in that case, I had better get out of these wet things.”

His line of questioning had been purposely provocative, probing to fill in the blanks, and her easy response seemed to indicate they had either been intimate, or she wasn’t averse to the idea. Now that he felt his suspicions were confirmed, the thought of continuing was an appealing one. “Can I help?”

“I know you don’t remember particulars, but you’ll have to trust me that trying to peel out of wet clothes isn’t as attractive as it sounds.” She was laughing again, and he loved it. “Cold, sticky,” she shook her head. “Really, it’s a fight.”

He closed the remaining distance between them carefully; she still had that poker in her hand after all. Perry supposed if he was too forward she had the option of discouraging him none too gently. “I like a good fight as much as the next fellow.” She smelled like flowers, rain, and wood smoke. He lifted a hand and ran his finger down the edge of that clinging shirt. Her breath caught, a tiny gasp escaping her, as he brushed against her breastbone. Perry’s blood rushed south.

“There isn’t a next fellow,” she said softly.

“Good.” His finger reversed its previous path, stopping beneath her chin. He tilted her head upwards slowly and brought his lips to hers. There was a moment he wasn’t sure she was going to kiss him back, then her lips parted, and she moved hungrily into the kiss. His heart pounded in response. He moved his free hand down her side, but it did not travel smoothly. The damp fabric resisted his caress, trying to cling to him as it clung to her. He thought about the smooth skin that lay beneath it and how much he longed to touch it instead. He tugged at her shirt, trying to pull it free of her waistband. It stuck, coming in jerks and stops. Della sighed in irritation. A chuckle escaped him, and he pulled back. “This is the part where you get to say ‘I told you so’.”

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “I find smug silence works just as well.”

Perry stepped back and let her go. She rested the poker in its stand, and his eyes then followed her up the stairs until she was out of sight. The fire was warm against his back, and he began to pace unconsciously back and forth in front of it as he considered the woman undressing in the other room. Now that she wasn’t in front of him he wondered if this was a good idea. Did he even have a rubber in the house? An accidental child he wouldn’t be able to remember would be an unmitigated disaster. He frowned deeply as his mind spun off a number of scenarios.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be careful, it was his frustrating lack of memory. He couldn’t remember if they’d ever had a serious conversation about a relationship or if they had been a one-night stand. That was all he could give her now anyway, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.

He glanced up to find her standing at the base of the stair, one hand on the newel post, watching him warily. She wore a robe decorated in pale pink flowers that hugged her curves and was just barely long enough to cover her knees. He swallowed hard.

“You looked serious. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Worrying at a problem with no satisfactory solution,” he said, a little gruffer than he intended. He sat abruptly and gestured for her to join him.

“Worrying about us?”

He grunted in confirmation.

“You can trust me. You used to.” She sat down, and her robe slid open to taunt him with a few inches of bare thigh. He tore his gaze away, trying to refocus on her face. It wouldn’t be the first time a pretty face had led him astray. He would be the first to acknowledge that he had gotten into trouble more than once trying to help a member of the fairer sex. Even though his gut was saying yes, he could trust her, he didn’t know why he felt that way.

“Della, maybe it would be better if we just...talked.”

She fished in the pocket of her robe and pulled out the small square packaging of a condom and tossed it on the coffee table. “Alright. What do you want to talk about?”

He stared at the prophylactic on the table. “Uh. I...uh.”

She leaned forward and kissed him softly. Gentle touches on his lips, his chin, down his neck to the buttons beneath his collar. “I’m all ears,” she whispered into his neck. He wanted her. God, he wanted her.

“On the contrary, you are definitely lips and hands too.” His breath was becoming ragged as she unbuttoned his shirt. Those lips were paler every time he saw them, color left behind everywhere they touched. And every touch sent shock waves racing down his skin to his groin. She moved over him, straddling his waist to better continue undressing him. His cock was straining uncomfortably against the confines of his trousers, desperate for release.

Della ground against him as, having dispensed with his button-down, she tugged his undershirt up over his head. He grabbed her hips tightly as soon as his hands were free, a hiss escaping him. He wanted her. He wanted to feel her skin, slick against his. Desire was twisting his gut, and she was still moving sinuously, despite, or perhaps encouraged by, his tightening grip.

Perry was losing the ability to think clearly, but he wasn’t ready to surrender just yet. He pulled Della against him and pushed them both off the couch onto the floor. Her robe came further loose with the movement, uncovering a soft breast. Perry pushed her down and locked his mouth over its rose-colored tip. Della made a low noise as he rolled his tongue around her nipple, sucking until it hardened into a tight peak.

She rocked against him as he pulled her robe aside and repeated the action on the other side. “Oh, oh God. Perry!” He didn’t think his arousal could increase anymore, but each moan torn from her throat proved him wrong again. He pulled the tie that still lay across her stomach loose, and her robe fell open exposing her completely to his hungry gaze.

He moved his head down her body, kissing, sucking, marking her, as he made his way to the thatch of curls between her legs. He was intent on keeping her off balance. He wanted her. He wanted to hear her begging for release. Keeping the lead was the only hope he had of lasting.

Perry used one hand to keep teasing a nipple. With the other, he gently nudged Della’s legs apart. His tongue darted out to find her most sensitive spot, and she cried out as he found the nub of her desire. He closed his mouth on her and let his tongue flicker over that pulsing point.

Della’s whimpering became incoherent cries as he slipped his longest digit between the folds of her sex. She was warm, soft, and tight around his finger. For a moment the image of that close heat wrapped around his cock took hold of his imagination, and he groaned aloud. He wanted her. He wanted to drive her over the edge. He curled his finger up to rub her inner wall opposite the spot his tongue worked relentlessly. Della bucked hard against his mouth. “Per—Perry!” His name fell from her lips in gasps.

“Please...oh yes...oh,” she mewled. “I...I’m so close.” Perry redoubled his efforts and slipped in a second finger, his focus on Della temporarily relieving the mounting pressure in his groin. She broke with a shuddering cry, and he felt her muscles clench and pulse around his fingers as she came. The relief was gone. He was as hard now as he could ever remember being. He wanted her. He wanted to bury himself in her as deeply as he could.

He fumbled with the button of his trousers and pulled his almost painfully throbbing member free. He grasped his shaft and began working himself with a practiced hand. Della lay beneath him in a delicious haze, her chest still heaving. He glanced at the little package on the coffee table and then positioned himself above her, balancing on one forearm. Perry wanted her. He wanted her, and he could have her.

He continued to drive his own desire, tangling his left hand in her hair. His head fell forward into the crook of her neck, muffling his moans. Perry squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding stars that exploded behind them as his release pounded through him. He eased his grip as he worked the last of his seed onto her stomach; the last echoes of his climax rippling through his body.

Perry rolled to the side, trying not to collapse on her, and fished in his pants pocket for a handkerchief. He took several deep breaths before sitting up enough to wipe Della’s soft skin clean, and then settled back down at her side. The intensity of his desire quelled, he became aware that the fire had burned down to ashes. He ought to get up and put another log on it, but he couldn’t quite make himself move just yet.

“How long has it been since we—”

“Too long,” she interrupted with a sigh. “You could have used the condom.”

“I thought about it, but I wanted to save it.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t remember if we had any more,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. It wasn’t really the reason he had held back, but he said it because he wanted to hear her laugh again. Della didn’t bite. In fact, her face fell pensively as he watched.

“We do.” Della stood, wrapping her robe around herself once more. She belted it tightly. “Excuse me.”

Without another word she walked to the front door, let in a burst of damp, cool air, and pulled it shut behind her. Perry was left flabbergasted on the floor. What on earth had he done? It was raining. What was she doing going out in nothing but her robe? Perry scrambled to his feet, tucked himself away, and refastened his trousers. He grabbed his heavy, waxed jacket from one of the hooks on the wall and stepped into a pair of shoes. He stopped, hand on the door, as a thought struck him, then grabbed the condom off the table and ran out after her.

The leading edge of the storm front had moved through, and the rain that fell now came straight down beyond the overhang of the porch. Perry stood at the edge, looking in vain for a sign the woman who had run off before he committed to a direction. The precipitation hung like a curtain, obscuring everything more than a few feet from the cabin. He had just resolved to head down the road towards town when a low hiccuped sob caught his ear. Della hadn’t run into the storm after all. She was sitting curled up in a low deck chair at the far end of the porch.

“Della. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No. Of course not,” she sniffed. “I’m fine.”

“Your present distress says otherwise.”

“It’s nothing, Chief.”

He tried not to shake his head at her stubborn display and changed tacks. “Where did that come from?”

“Where did what come from?”

“Chief.”

“You’re the boss.” She gave a small shrug. “And you were tired of me calling you Mr. Mason. I had to call you something.”

“Do you have something against Perry?”

“No,” her brow furrowed suspiciously.

“You did use it a number of times just now,” he said as he leaned against the sturdy, wooden railing next to her. “So I wondered.”

“We weren’t really...together then. It just seemed too personal.”

He nodded. “And it’s hard to be personal when you aren’t sure of where you stand.”

Della’s wary look faded, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I know it isn’t fair of me. It’s just...you still want me, but I don’t get all of you.”

“You’re right. It isn’t fair, but then it isn’t everyday I have sex with a girl I just met.”

Della looked at him for a beat and then burst into laughter. His heart swelled at the sound and realizing what he had said, he began to laugh too.

When she had subsided into the occasional giggle Perry pulled the condom from his pocket. “I have it on good authority that there are more of these inside.”

“Perry, you don’t have to—”

“Enjoy myself immensely in the arms of a gorgeous woman? Sure, I don’t have to, but what a fool I’d be not to.” He didn’t have to give her anything, but he suspected he owed her more than he could ever repay.

Della stretched like a cat, giving Perry a chance to admire her long limbs again. He held out a hand, and she used it to pull herself up out of the chair. She tucked her arms inside his coat and around him with a sigh, her head coming to rest against his chest. “You’re warm.”

“Someone lit a fire under me.” He reached down and turned her chin up to place a gentle kiss against her lips. It did not stay gentle for long. She kissed him with abandon, soft, eager, and open. Perry felt his loins stirring again. Clearly it _had_ been too long.

Her hands moved smoothly over his bare flanks, grasping greedily as they settled on his rear. Perry grabbed her with a growl and spun her so her back was against the rail, pushing his thigh inbetween hers. His hands came to rest on either side of her, pinning her there, and she hummed as she rocked against his quad. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had so quickly garnered a repeat performance from him. But then, he supposed, he couldn’t remember her.

Della’s hands found his fly, and his cock twitched as she tugged the buttons loose, her mouth still locked to his. She pushed his pants down on his hips, pulling him free. He wasn’t as hard as he could be yet, and he flexed against her, eager for her touch.

She nudged him back slightly and dropped to her knees. Perry groaned aloud as her lips touched his glands. One slim, cool hand wrapped around his shaft while the other kneaded his ass and pulled him closer. “Jesus...Della,” he ground out as her tongue worked around the groves of his penis. The sensation of her wet, hot mouth, a sharp contrast to the cool air, spurred his rigidity. The building force in his groin coiled, longing to be released, but he did not want this to be about him, he wanted it to be about her.

With a grunt he pulled her to her feet. She shivered against him. “Are you cold?”

“Not anymore.” He pulled the tie on her robe lose and pushed it off her shoulders. It fluttered to the slatted floor. “Here?” she asked as he tore open the plastic package still in his hand, and she took it from him.

“Here,” he affirmed, kicking off his pants and shoes. Carefully, she rolled the condom tightly down his stiff member. She bent as she did, and he felt her tongue again, the sensation ever so slightly dulled this time, as she closed her mouth around him to slick the rubber.

As tempting as it was, he didn’t let her linger. He lifted her up and onto the wide rail, pulling her knees apart as he did so. “Oh!” she cried in surprise, trying to keep her balance. Perry steadied her until her hands came to rest on the posts that stretched to the roof on either side of them. When he was certain she wouldn’t fall, he stepped between her legs, moving one hand down to tease her clitoris.

Della trembled in his arms as his fingers worked her soft folds. “Perry! Oh...that’s...yes, there.” Her moans came more and more rapidly until they were nothing more than delirious, desperate gasps. “Please! I can’t...I need more...” She was squirming against his hand, futilely trying to gain more friction, unable to let go of the supports and pull him closer without losing her balance.

Perry took his cock in one hand, her hip in his other and gave them both what they desired. He slid home, sheathing himself in her at last. Della’s long legs locked around him, and she threw her head back into the shower of raindrops that pattered off the roof’s edge. Perry settled into a steady rhythm, each long, slow stroke drawing an exclamation of pleasure from her. Water dripped down her chest, cold rivulets running around her breasts, and Perry took hold of one, his thumb flicking the hard nipple back and forth.

“Mmmm, faster,” she begged. Beads of water were caught in Della’s hair. They glistened like jewels as he honored her request. She was a carnal vision, slippery and straining for release. God, if he couldn’t remember this, his mind wasn’t worth a damn. Her keening cries built as he pushed her harder, reveling in her heat. She came suddenly, her body convulsing in a loss of control that made Perry grin with what he considered well-deserved smugness.

“Perry!” She lost her grip on the posts, and in a flash he had wrapped an arm around her to keep her upright. Her arms folded around his neck as she shook, the aftershocks of her orgasm rolling through her, but Perry didn’t relent. Instead he gripped her hips once more and increased his pace. Sweat dripped off his face to mingle with the rain on her shining skin. “It’s...oh god, it’s too much! No, Perry I can’t...” She couldn’t escape him though, and he drove her relentlessly to peak again.

Perry roared as Della tightened and shattered, coming around him a final time. Her shuddering surrender demanded his own release deep inside her, not that he could have held out even if he’d wanted to. He was rocked by the waves of his orgasm, powerful and insistent. As the tide receded, he wavered and then his legs gave out. He pulled Della down with him, his knees striking painfully on the wooden deck beneath them. He mostly succeeding in keeping her on top.

Della scrambled off, his cock softening quickly at the loss of her. “Oh! Are you alright?”

Perry stared up at her worried face. “I think maybe I’ve forgotten that I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“I think maybe you’ve forgotten there’s a perfectly serviceable bed upstairs.”

He chuckled and tried to stretch out, but a pained groan escaped him.

“Oh, Perry. I’m sorry—”

“I’m not.” He grinned widely at her.

“You’re probably going to hurt for days, and you won’t even know why.”

A gust of wind blew along the deck bringing a splatter of rain into their faces, and Perry’s shrinking manhood retreated further. “Oh, I’ll know. I’m going to write in my journal that I had mind-blowing sex with you.” He slipped the rubber off.

“You will _not_ write that in your journal,” she argued, as she crossed her arms against the chill. Her frowning disapproval was undermined entirely by her naked dishevelment.

“I will.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to brag to...to _yourself_!”

“You’d rather I called Paul?”

“Absolutely not,” she shook her head, but there was laughter behind her eyes.

The throbbing in his knees was subsiding, and he ventured his weight on them gingerly. Della began to gather their discarded clothing. When she straightened, he slipped his free hand beneath her elbow to escort her back inside. “It isn’t a brag; it’s a correction of my lax record keeping. An attorney needs all the facts if he’s going to see justice done, you know. And there are some very important facts I’m not remembering.”

She gave him a small smile. “You’ve answered your question then.”

“Which question?”

“Why your dutiful secretary is still here. To keep track of the things you’ve forgotten.”


	5. An Evening

Paul Drake arrived late in the afternoon. Early enough for cocktails, but late enough to not really have anything to do but lounge around and wait for dinner to be served. He insisted this perfect timing on his part was a finely honed craft as well as a dying art. Della said that was because those who practiced it were liable to be stabbed by their hosts.

It was good to see the private detective. Perry certainly didn’t mind spending his day with Della, but he had to admit it was nice to feel like he wasn’t playing catch up. He remembered Paul. How hard could talking with him be? “Fill me in on what’s happening with you Paul. What have I missed?”

“Gee Perry, I’m not sure where to begin. Ten years is a long time.”

“Ten—”

“I’ve gotten married, got four kids, let’s see, Ellen, Todd, Little Perry, and Paul Drake Junior,” he listed enthusiastically.

“Paul Drake!” came Della’s cry from the open kitchen door. “Don’t you wind him up.”

“Aww, Della,” Paul called back. “His face hasn’t even turned purple yet.”

“Don’t worry,” Perry said with a touch of irritation. “I wouldn’t have believed him anyway.”

“Oh sure! Me you remember, and still you wouldn’t believe me!”

“That’s exactly why I wouldn’t.”

Paul laughed good-naturedly. “ _You_ have a suspicious mind.”

“Lately I’m not sure I have any mind at all anymore,” he grumbled lightly.

Della poked her head around the corner to inform them that dinner would be ready momentarily, and that as head chef for the evening she was not responsible for clean up, before disappearing again.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Paul said as he got up to fix himself a drink. “You’re as clever as you ever were. Which is to say, not quite as smart as me of course.”

“I guess times are pretty lean for you.”

Paul’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “It’s not like you were my only client, Perry, but—”

“Trying to make it as a comic and all,” he deadpanned.

A wide grin split Paul’s face. “I rest my case.”

Della reappeared and the two men helped her bring the food to the table. Paul kept up a running commentary on the current goings-on back in Los Angeles and Perry tried gamely to follow along as they enjoyed salads, steak, and roasted potatoes with asparagus. The conversation between the three of them was easy, but despite the pleasant evening Perry found himself increasingly annoyed. He didn’t mean to be irritable, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. And why shouldn’t he feel that way? He _was_ missing something: a huge swath of his memories and the ability to make any more.

His gaze fell to the woman sitting across from him. She smiled easily at Paul’s antics and laughed at his, admittedly funny, stories. The detective launched into his latest run-in with the Los Angeles police department and mentioned several names in a manner that made Perry suspect he should have recognized them. He nodded absently. Della wasn’t the only person who had been erased from his past then.

Something Paul said made Della bite back a smile. The sparkle in her eyes made Perry feel warm inside. How many times had he seen that? What would working with her have been like? Had he been distracted by the very thought of her, wondering how he could make her smile like that again? Wondering what it would feel like to kiss her, to run his hands over her soft skin, to have those strong fingers caressing him? Had his practice suffered? Had he lost his edge? Was that how he had gotten into the predicament that had ended his career?

“What do you think?”

Paul’s question halted Perry’s spinning mind in its tracks. “What?”

“About next week. I don’t have anything lined up, and I am long overdue for some fishing. Della could go back to town and get some business taken care of. It could be just us guys for a change.”

Perry’s dinner roiled in his belly. She was leaving? “I didn’t realize I still had a business.”

“Come on Perry, it’s not always about you. Even I know a girl likes to get her hair done once in a while.”

“I can speak for myself, Paul.” Della was frowning.

Chagrin coursed through him. He was being selfish. “I suppose I can’t even remember the last time you had a vacation.” Perry smiled tightly as he tried to quash down the clawing feeling in his gut. “Take all the time you need.” She hadn’t given a single indication she was unhappy. Why was he suddenly terrified he was going to lose her?

Della stood and began gathering plates. “I’m going to Ellen Rasp’s parole hearing. I’ll be back by Thursday.”

“Ellen Rasp,” he tried to place the name.

“The woman who shot you. Someone ought to be there. I know you don’t remember anything, but I do.” Della finished making her stack of plates and carried them into the kitchen. Perry followed with glasses in both hands.

“What happened to Ellen Rasp?”

Paul trailed behind them. “She plead to a seven-year sentence for reckless endangerment and assault with a deadly weapon.”

“No murder conviction?”

“For her brother? Nope, Burger couldn’t make it stick. Her attorney wasn’t as good as you, of course, but Della’s testimony pretty much sealed the case for self-defense. I suspect that‘s why he was so hard nosed about the plea deal.”

Perry turned to Della. “You testified? To what exactly?”

“Artie Rasp threatened to kill Ellen.”

Paul cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Alright Beautiful, you run along. The menfolk are supposed to be cleaning up, remember?”

Perry thought the look Della cut at Paul ought to have killed him on the spot, but she acquiesced and left the room anyway. “Della was there when Rasp was killed?”

Paul took a deep breath. “Yeah, she was.”

Perry’s face hardened. “She failed to mention that.”

“Because she knows how you’ll react.” Paul filled the sink and began washing the dishes. He tossed a towel Perry’s way. “You get upset. Every time.”

“I’m supposed to be happy my secretary was in harm’s way?”

A snort escaped the lanky detective.

“That’s funny to you?”

“Of course not. I know you’re upset, so quit trying to pick a fight with me.”

“Why was she there?”

“Because the two of you couldn’t ever leave well enough alone. Always hunting up trouble rather than letting cases come to you like any normal attorney. What’s so funny is that you were forever sending her into sticky situations. When didn’t you have Della helping you work a case?”

Despite his frustration, Perry felt something warm beneath his breastbone at the thought. Maybe she hadn’t been a distraction at all. If she had the guts to go along with his madcap stunts, maybe she had made his practice better. He almost smiled. Then despair shot through him as devastating as any bullet. If it were true, it had been his fault she had been there at all. Had Ellen Rasp threatened Della with the gun before turning it on him? His blood ran cold at the thought. “Wait,” he grabbed at another puzzle piece. “Why didn’t I want to press charges? What is Della going to testify to at the hearing?”

“She’s trying to help Ellen get parole.” The detective held up a hand forestalling Perry’s query. “You didn’t want to press charges, but Burger did it on behalf of the state anyway. Della’s been going every six months since this fiasco started.”

“So I remembered what happened after I was shot?”

Paul nodded. “You weren’t awake much, but the times you came around you...well, you knew what was going on.”

Perry let that sink in a moment as he dried a plate. “I knew Della.”

“Yeah, you did,” Paul confirmed. “They had to get the bullet out though, Perry. You came to less and less. The doctors said you might end up in a coma permanently. It might not have killed you outright, but it was still killing you.”

“And after the surgery, I ended up like this.”

Paul shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I guess you can’t dig around in a fella’s skull without messing something up.”

“Did they tell me about the risks?”

“Did you not listen to the part about the coma? They couldn’t tell you anything at all!”

“Which one of you gave them the okay to operate?”

Paul’s eyes flicked to the kitchen door. “Look, I know it isn’t easy to get on with your life when you can’t remember, but you shouldn’t—”

“How the hell would you know? When was the last time you woke with no knowledge of the last—damn it, I don’t even know how long it’s been since some quack was rooting around in my brain!”

“That quack saved your life.”

“A life I can’t do anything with! I can’t work. I don’t know what’s happening in the world. I can’t do anything except spend the day lounging around here with Della.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Paul asked in disbelief. “You know, a lot of guys would consider that something like heaven.”

Perry opened his mouth and shut it again immediately. Why shouldn’t he feel ungrateful for wanting what he had lost? Something was twisting his insides again. Something like envy. Was he jealous of the way Paul saw his world, or was he jealous of the man who had lived the days he couldn’t remember? His head hurt.

Paul handed him the last glass. “You want to take a walk outside? Have a smoke?”

“I’m going to write some of this down for tomorrow.” He shook his head. “I didn’t even remember that I smoked.”

Perry left Paul in the kitchen and walked through the living room. His eyes swept the room for Della, but she had made herself scarce. When he got to his bedroom he scribbled his thoughts down furiously, not bothering to take the time to organize anything coherently.

He stopped when he realized he was repeating himself and looked through his notes again. How much was missing? What else had they not bothered to mention? He stood and began to pace. How could he trust either of them? His best friend and his...his...Della kept treating him like a child in need of a babysitter. He wanted to trust Paul, and every fiber of his being screamed that he should trust her. Perry threw the journal across the room and let his head drop into his hands. He fingered the scar on his scalp absentmindedly. He needed to get out; he was going to take that walk after all.

He came back through the living room and stopped abruptly at the sound of voices in the kitchen.

“Come on, Beautiful. How much longer are you going to do this?”

“How long is forever, Paul?” She paused. “I can’t leave him. You know I won’t leave him. I owe him more than that.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Be honest. Either way you look at it, it was. He never would have been in that room if he hadn’t come after me. If I had trusted him in the first place...”

“You don’t know that. He might have been there anyway, and if you hadn’t tried to stop her that bullet would have been in his chest. He’d be as dead as Rasp.”

A sound like a strangled sob followed Paul’s words, and Perry thought it was the sound of his heart breaking.

“Don’t. Please don’t.” He could just make out Della’s low plea. There was a long pause before she continued. “How many times have we been over this? It isn’t guilt. You remember what it was like when he had a nurse. He’s better when I’m here.”

“But what kind of life is it for you, sweetheart?”

Envy flashed through Perry again, but he knew Paul was right. What kind of life could he give her?

“Wishing for what’s gone just makes it hurt more,” she answered. “It’s better to live the days as they come.”

No life at all.

“I don’t know that I could accept that.”

“I’ve had some time to come to terms with it, Paul.”

“You know I have to check. Because if you need out, I’ll deal with the damn, soreheaded fool, no matter how lousy his company gets.”

Perry didn’t want to hear anymore. He had to talk to her. He had known her for a day, or maybe forever. It didn’t matter. He finally understood what he had been feeling all night, the worry, jealousy, and hurt. He loved her. And he had been so wrapped up in his own loss he had been completely blind to hers. He strode purposefully into the kitchen, his eyes immediately finding Della’s wide-eyed gaze. He loved her. She was staying with him out of some sort of loyalty, and she should be free to choose something else. The fear of losing her almost choked his words, but he managed to swallow it down.

“Paul, can you give us a minute,” he asked without looking at the detective. He wouldn’t really be losing her. He could re-write his notes, and he would never know she had been there at all.

“Sure, pal.” Paul got up and walked around the tiny kitchen table. Perry ignored the possessive surge that swept through him as Paul gave Della’s shoulder a squeeze on his way by.

“Della, I...” Perry sat down in the chair next to her and held out his hand. She took it, watching him quietly. He let out a breath and for a moment could focus on nothing but her warm, soft hand in his. Gathering his courage, he spoke. “I don’t know how to explain this to you so I’m just going to say it straight out. I think you should go back to Los Angeles. Not just for Ellen Rasp’s hearing. For good.”

Della tried to pull her hand back, but Perry tightened his grip. “Please hear me out.”

“I just got done telling Paul that I’m not going anywhere,” she said, shaking her head.

“I heard you. And as much as I hate to admit it, Paul’s right. This isn’t fair to you.”

Her eyes rolled with mild irritation. “Don’t you think I should have some say in how I live my life?”

“Della, I don’t want to keep on hurting you.”

“And you think that sending me away won’t hurt me?”

“Maybe for a little while, but you’ll be able to live a real life.” He swallowed. “I love you, but I can’t remember it. If you leave you’ll be able to meet someone who can love you the way you deserve.”

He expected her to argue, instead Della laughed. Not the low chuckles he had heard over dinner, but something bordering on hysterical that had her doubled over, tears beginning to stream down her face. He stared at her in confusion until she was able to speak. “Perry, you don’t remember my name, but you love me anyway. I can see it every single time you look at me. I might as well be a complete stranger, and you still remember the feelings you have for me. Where on earth will I find someone else who falls in love with me _every day_?”

Perry gritted his teeth. “I think Paul loves you.”

Her sigh was knowing. “Of course Paul loves me. You and I are practically the only family he has.” Della leaned forward and kissed Perry firmly on the lips. “There’s something I should show you.”

She led Perry through the sitting room and towards the stairs. “Did you two kiss and make up?” Paul asked from the green, overstuffed reading chair.

“Can’t you tell? Some detective you are,” Della replied good-naturedly and continued on. Paul just shook his head.

Perry followed her into her room. She opened the armoire and knelt to pull out a box at least two feet on a side. It was filled with familiar-looking steno pads and slim leather-bound journals. He picked one up and opened it to see his own handwriting. _Her name is Della_... He flipped to the last page of writing. _I have to make her leave._ Perry opened another book. _Her name is Della and she is loyal to a fault_... Another. _I love her_... Another. _I can’t stand how much this hurts her_... Another. _She won’t leave me. I don’t know what else to do_... He dropped the journal in his hand onto the growing pile in front of him.

“How—how many times have I asked you to go?”

“I’ve lost count,” she sighed.

“And when I do, you give me a new notebook, start over, and pretend it never happened?”

“We usually talk about it first. It’s never the same twice. Sometimes it takes you a week, sometimes a month or more...once it was the very first day, but somehow you always come to the same conclusion. I wish I could convince you it was the wrong one.”

“I don’t understand why you’re still here.”

“Because I love you, Perry Mason. And even if it hurts sometimes, you’re still you. You may think you can just erase me, but you’re wrong. You know something is missing when I’m gone, you just don’t know what it is.”

His fingers ran over the scar that was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. “How long has it been?”

“Since the surgery?”

He nodded.

“Almost four years.”

He nodded again, unable to think of a thing to say. Perry was suddenly furious at the evidence of his own weakness. He had the gift of a clean slate. He didn’t have to remember what he couldn’t give her, but when he chose that path he wasn’t helping her at all. She didn’t forget and she was still here. Was he really so selfish that he would choose ignorance over and over again? One day might there be, not just a box filled with days he couldn’t remember but an entire attic? His own strange version of Dorian Gray’s portrait, his failings hidden away from even himself.

“Don’t be angry at yourself,” she said knowingly. “It gives you a puzzle. You’re always happier when you’re working out a puzzle. I can’t give you new cases, but I can give you this.”

Perry found his voice. “I don’t think I deserve you.”

“I’m afraid that argument won’t stand up in court, Counselor.”

“Did I lose my memories of you passing the bar?”

“Just your memories of hiring the most useful secretary you’ve ever had.”

“Are you always this modest?”

“Always.” A small smile graced her face as she leaned in close once more. “Do you know what you want to do?”

He closed his eyes as her forehead came to rest against his momentarily. “Ask me tomorrow.”


	6. One Day

The sunset burned in the western sky, reds, oranges, and purples cast over the darkening desert landscape. The air was cooling and Perry watched as the breeze ruffled Della’s hair. After a moment he pulled her in close to him to ward off the chill. She laid her head against his shoulder as they watched the fading light. Above them stars began to appear, twinkling against the velvety black that crept inexorably westward. Della began to shiver against him despite their closeness.

“Maybe we should head back. There’s not much left of lunch, but I bet we can find a diner that’ll be open late.”

She nodded but didn’t pull away. He placed a kiss on her head, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo, hoping against hope that the memory of it would stick. He liked the smell, though he wouldn’t ever be sure if it was something new or he had liked it before. In a moment like this, it didn’t really matter that he couldn’t remember yesterday. He was happy. Even if he wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.

“I love the desert.”

“It’s why I bring you out here.”

“Do we come often?”

Della looked down. “Usually the day after you ask me to leave.”

“So you can start everything over fresh.” He frowned, “Am I really that bad?”

A corner of her mouth turned up. “As it turns out, it’s less exhausting to answer your questions about what happened over again than to convince you not to throw me out in a storm of self-pity and noble intentions.”

“But you never tell me everything.”

“The one time I did you kicked me out the same day.”

“Tell me now. I’m starting over tomorrow anyway.”

Della pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around her knees. He waited until she finally spoke, “The worst moment of my life is the one you most want to relive.”

Guilt stabbed at him. “Della, I didn’t...I don’t want to hurt you.”

She sighed deeply. “But you want to know.”

“Never mind it,” he shrugged. “I won’t remember.”

Della’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon. “When Artie Rasp turned out to be such a fink, I begged you to do something. You were angry. Angry that technically he was your client rather than Ellen. Angry that he had played you, angry that I was upset with you for not having a solution to save her. And I was angry too...I didn’t wait. I...” Della hung her head. “I stormed out of the office. Conflict of interests be damned, if you were bound by the ethics of your profession, well that wasn’t going to stop me from doing what I thought needed to be done.

“Initially, I planned to just get Ellen out of her apartment. Hide her somewhere her brother wouldn’t find her until we could figure out what to do, but she didn’t want to leave. I didn’t know.” She sighed. “Rasp had already called her; he was on his way there. I tried to convince her that we should go, but she just couldn’t believe that she didn’t deserve all of this somehow. It had been her mistake that had begun the blackmail after all. I don’t know how long we went around in circles about it. Too long.

“The one good thing I could see was that she had a certified check drawn on her bank account with her. The original bait you had asked for, for the blackmailer. I convinced her to sign it over to me as your secretary. I figured that at a minimum it would give you leverage.”

“Smart girl.”

Della shook her head. “I should have been smarter. Rasp showed up as I was about to head back to the office. He was furious that he couldn’t get his hands on the money immediately. He began to beat Ellen. I thought he was going to kill her; he was shouting that he would. I got a hold of him for just a minute, but it was long enough for Ellen to get a gun out of her desk. And then she shot him.”

Perry’s chest felt uncomfortably tight. “You don’t have to go on.”

She shook her head. “I was scared. But he was bleeding out on the floor, and I knew we had to call the police.” Her words slowed, as she walked through her recollection. “I had the receiver in my hand; they said they were sending help, and they were putting me through to Lieutenant Tragg. I remember that very clearly. That’s when...well, I’m not sure if you heard the shot from outside the apartment or if Rasp had just left the door open, because you came charging in, and Ellen still had that damn gun. She was panicked and half-blinded from Rasp’s attack. I don’t think she even registered who you were. She pointed the gun at you, and I grabbed at her shoulder...it was all I could reach and...” Della’s eyes stared widely at the scene only she could see.

Perry pulled her back into his embrace. She was freezing. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and stopped to simply hold her when he saw the silent tears leaving tracks in her makeup. “I’m sorry, Della. I’m sorry I asked.”

“I thought you were dead,” she said thickly. “Rasp was. They wouldn’t let me in the ambulance. I...I don’t know how I got to the hospital. That’s a funny thing not to remember in all this, isn’t it?”

“No funnier than me not being able to remember you.” He shook his head. “How does that make any sense at all?”

Della laid her head on his shoulder. “I’ve wondered if maybe it was because it was my fault, and so on some level you wanted, or needed, to forget everything involved in order to be able to heal at all. The surgery simply excised me along with the bullet.”

“It wasn’t your fault Ellen Rasp pulled the trigger,” he protested.

“That didn’t change the fact that I felt like I was being punished. I have your power of attorney...I was the one who gave the go ahead for the doctors to cut into your head.”

“It sounds an awful lot like you saved my life twice.”

“I kept expecting you would recognize me, and every time you didn’t I became more and more certain that you didn’t _want_ to see me. I came up with any excuse I could to stay at the office and away from your hospital room. You were so unhappy. Short-tempered and nearly explosive with everyone. And I would have let it go on that way.” She shook her head as if to rebuke herself. “Paul was the one who figured it out. Turns out he’s a damn good detective.”

“Figured out what?”

“That you were...better when I was there. You stopped biting off heads. I was so frightened and worried; I didn’t notice. But you were calmer. So much so that the doctor’s felt you could go home with supervision.

“So that’s why you stayed.”

“I stayed because I love you! And when I stopped crying over what we had lost I was able to see what we still had.”

“It isn’t fair to you—”

“Of course it isn’t! Oh, Perry you are so set on making everything fair and just, you lose sight of everything else.”

“If it’s in my power, I should make it right,” he said firmly.

“It isn’t fair to you either. Why aren’t I allowed to make things right? You aren’t the only one who wants to fight injustice.”

Perry inhaled in preparation to argue further and she stopped him with a fierce kiss. He could feel her exasperation as she sucked hard on his lip. She broke off. “I have enough. You are alive.”

Her mouth denied him speech once more. Her tongue beckoned his tantalizingly, before she spoke again. “You are here.”

Perry initiated the kiss this time, his hands rising to run through her hair. Her mouth softened. As her intensity abated, a pressure grew in Perry’s mind. It felt like a dam on the verge of bursting. If only he could open the floodgates. Why wouldn’t it come? It was so close. He pulled back to look into her gentle eyes. “You love me,” she finished.

The feeling of being on the precipice waned. He loved her. He did. He knew he must. Was that all that it was? The lost memory of her, of them, of what they were to each other? His head throbbed in frustration. He was stuck, like a needle skipping out of a record’s groove.

“Come on. It’s getting late. It’s a long drive, and we won’t be back until tomorrow,” Della said, climbing to her feet. “I’ve probably driven the route enough to do it in my sleep, but I don’t think we should risk it.”

“What did you say?” The ache vanished, and suddenly Perry wasn’t skipping. He didn’t feel like he was anywhere at all.

“It was just a joke. I just meant I know the way home. You do too.”

“I know the way home,” he repeated slowly.

“Perry, are you alright?”

“Della, I’m going home.” He scrambled up after her. “You’re a genius! _You’re home!_ ”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ve lost me, Chief.”

“You’re home,” he crowed again. “I didn’t lose anything! I just can’t get to it. It’s...it’s like the bridge is out. The doctors didn’t cut you out with the bullet. They can’t have. You feel familiar even before I really get to know you. Paul figured half of it out. And you’re the rest.”

“What—“

“My mind is going down the same path over and over. Only, because of the surgery, it hits a dead end before it gets to you. But I know the path, and I expect you to be there.”

Della blinked furiously, and he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I didn’t forget you. I’m just taking the wrong path.”

“How do you find the right one?” she whispered against his chest.

“I don’t know.” It might be a Sisyphean task he would never complete, but he didn’t feel hopeless. Against any rational thought he felt the opposite. “If it’s there to be found, we’ll find it together.”

She hiccuped, and he bent his head to kiss her, salt lingering on his lips as she pressed against him. “We _could_ get a hotel room on the way back,” he suggested, the feel of her body molded against him suddenly at the forefront of his mind.

Della shook her head and smiled wearily. “Not a chance.” She pulled up the blanket they had been sitting on to shake it out. “Paul Drake would never let me live it down if I did that a second time.”

“A second time?”

“What exactly would you think was happening if you woke in a strange place, with a woman you didn’t know, no memory of how you had gotten there, _and_ no helpful guidebook?”

“Oh.”

“There will be no more manhunts halfway across the state, thank you very much.”

“Alright if you’re going to tease me with tidbits like that, you’re going to have to spill the rest.”

Della’s laugh filled his ears. “The part where I was stranded at a motel for four hours after you took off, or the part where Paul threatened me with an expense report for every man in his employ that day?”

“He never did!”

Perry took the first leg of the drive back, continuing on into the wee hours, letting Della sleep as long as he could. When he didn’t think he could operate the large machine safely any longer he woke her, and they switched places. She drove on in the darkness, the stars blazing above them. Perry rested his head against her thigh, and her fingers traced lines on his scalp. He drifted on the edge of sleep, fighting to hold on to the memories he had made today, to hold on to her. Della. Her name is Della and she’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The brain is a fascinating organ, but I’ve done little to no actual research into how it works. I’m not a neuroscientist, just a storyteller. I do know that brains develop ruts of a sort, well traveled paths. That’s how we can learn to walk, throw a ball, or play the piano.
> 
> Does that work the same with a memory? I don’t know. My grandfather suffered from dementia in the last years of his life, and even when he didn’t remember me he always seemed happy to see me. There was one day we visited when I was surprised to have him call my infant daughter by my name and me by my mother’s. Maybe he was in a memory that was 30 years old, or maybe familiar pathways led him to the closest thing his mind could find. Whatever it was, it certainly seemed that he recognized the important things about who we were even if he didn’t recognize us.
> 
> Thanks for coming down this path with me!


End file.
